AN: Hawks was meant to be in this chapter, but it was already taking too long, so he'll get a lot of focus and there will be more actual plot development in the next one. This one is just more of Dabi and Suzu's relationship developing. SORRY IT'S LATE. I was on a lot of medication for awhile that was really messing with my ability to write. Finally off them, now.
015: your brother's wife.
Winter; 10 years.
It's been a year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty five days – and then some. It feels like a lifetime, and yet, it feels like a minute. It's hard to believe it's already winter again. Hard to believe it's only winter, again.
Cold, again.
A whole, long year. Just a year! And in that year – being with him, living with him – Suzume has learned so much about her big brother. As certain as the rise and fall of the sun, he is the clock by which she sets her entire day, every single day, and she thinks: she should know him by now. Having spent very nearly every moment she can with him, she should, and she does. She knows so much, she's sure of it.
Oh, there are some things he does that she's not sure she'll ever understand, of course. Sometimes, he takes up to three showers a day, and for seemingly no reason! When asked, he only ever gives her one of his indecipherable smiles and assures her that he'll tell her one day, when she's older. He says she'll understand when she's older. That's one of his favorite promises – one that only intensifies her curiosity. This bizarre obsession with bodily cleanliness is nearly impossible for Suzume to reconcile with the same older brother who has zero interest in maintaining the house without her begging him for help. With nothing else to go on, she can only chalk it up to another demonstration of her brother's often frustratingly contrary nature.
But bizarre idiosyncrasies notwithstanding, she thinks she's come to decipher what's most important about her big brother – both with regards to understanding him…
And, of course, surviving him.
Like the seasons, Suzume has discovered her brother's moods rotate in something like a cycle, just a lot less predictable and a lot more… well, maybe volatile is the word. Seasons are something that can be charted down to specific days, marked on a calendar. They can be prepared for. They're consistent, well-understood, and thoroughly documented. Her brother, though, cyclical as she's come to know him to be, defies being defined by anything as comforting as hard science or orderly dates in a planner.
No, no, her brother is so much more about guess-work and feeling. Reading him is like… it's like an art, she thinks, and one she's become quite practiced in. Often, she feels like she's trying very hard to divine the will of a particularly fickle god, but with all that practice, there's no doubt in her mind that she's getting better at it – for better or for worse.
Sometimes, like a few weeks back in November, her brother is impossibly cruel, all salt and spite and venom. Those times – the apex of the cycle, she thinks – are the worst, the most overwhelming, and Suzume struggles to predict them with all the dread of someone trying to hold off the end times. That they happen only every few months and rarely last a day is no real comfort. In those moments, her brother is relentless, the cast of his smile terrifying, the heat of him scalding, and in that way, oh, does she know him well. He is the monster again, like he was back in the big house. Hungry again. Starving again. Full of cold, terrible truths he's desperate to bury inside of her, her Worst Brother can be sated by only a few very specific things:
Her fear, her tears –
Or, most often, both.
Then, of course, comes the dip, the lull: the aftermath. After he's put her through the worst of it, her brother becomes… sweet, she thinks. Almost kind.
These moments in the cycle, in the seasons of his temper – they're her favorite. They're quiet, and comfortable. It's a cozy kind of lull, that dip in the strange rise and fall of his moods. If the nightmarish apex of his temperamental pattern is the summit of a seething, hellish volcano, well, then, this is the valley of good and plenty. For days and sometimes weeks following his terrifying outbursts, he is everything she ever wants or imagines him to be. Patient and doting, nearly every choice is hers to make by his generous decree. Whatever they eat, whatever they watch, whatever they do together… he will defer to her. If she wants something – if she wants nearly anything – her Best Brother will make it so.
He always makes her feel small, but in those rare, precious moments, swept up in his arms as she so often is, Suzume finds that she earnestly loves the feeling. Aches for it, somehow, even while it's happening. It feels like… well, it feels like home. Like safety. Or at least as close to home and safe as she thinks it's possible to feel, anymore.
Most of the time, though – in that climb from Best Brother back up to Worst Brother – he is a peculiar blend of all his sharp and soft edges. He plies her with praise in between the painful way his hands pinch and bite and poke, and he mocks her through all the sweet, lingering kisses he likes to pepper all over her face.
That is how she knows him:
Contradictory. Complicated. Somehow both easy and impossible to live with.
And actually living with him is… well, that, of course, is its own experience.
Her brother is every bit the definition of 'rules for thee, but not for me,' and oh, he has many rules for her. It's his house, after all, and Suzume has long since given up on challenging that particular argument. He is older, he says, and therefore more clever. He knows things, according to him, things she couldn't possibly begin to understand. She doesn't doubt that, of course. Even if she did, he is bigger than her, and stronger than her, and he'd win that argument by default.
So when he tells her that he knows what's best for her – that it is an older brother's duty to take his little sister in hand, and that it is her duty to obey him – the only option she really has is to comply.
Suzume supposes that at least some of his rules make sense. He insists on jackets when it's cold, and umbrellas when it's wet, even if he forgoes both himself. ("I don't get sick," he'll explain for the thirtieth time as he buttons her up in her heavy raincoat. "But you – well, you're so fragile, you'll catch your damn death out there.") Vegetables with every meal are almost always a necessity, and outside of special circumstances, meals are chosen with his preferences in mind. She isn't allowed the luxury of being picky the way he is.
"You're still growing," he'll tell her. "You'll eat it or I'll beat your ass."
(And he absolutely will.)
Others make less sense. Bedtime is another one of those things that is almost always on his terms. Suzume is not to go to bed before or after him; she is only to go to bed with him. If he wants to turn in early, well, whether she wants to or not, it's an early night for her, too. If he wants to stay up until three AM, then he expects her to stay up with him. Oh, he'll let her doze against him if she's struggling to stay awake, but she's not to retreat to bed unless he's already in it. If she wants to go to bed earlier, or stay up later, she has to plead her case to him. That, like everything with her brother, is often a mess of mixed results.
Then, of course, there's chores.
When living at the big house, Mama had taken on the role of keeping the house neat. Suzume's father had been a big believer in traditional family roles; he was the provider, the big man of the house, and housework was beneath him. Thus it was Mama's job to keep the house functional for the family – and for him, especially, on the occasions he actually came home. Her father was exacting about everything, and his standards for housekeeping was no exception.
While Mama never demanded it of her – had never asked for help even once – Suzume made a point of helping her as soon as she was old enough. Besides enjoying the time with her mother, some not insignificant part of her felt good about being able to alleviate even a little bit of her mother's burdens. Mama made it fun, too – there were songs, and there were dances, and treats at the end of it all. The sparklingly pristine house was also its own reward, in a way. It felt like some small thing Suzume could control in a time when she felt she had no control over anything.
But living with her brother is completely different. Suzume has no idea where her brother stands with regards to traditional household roles, and asking him hasn't really gotten her anywhere. It's one of those questions he always answers with a toothy, uncomfortable grin, his eyes prickling and hot in a way that Suzume finds difficult to look at. "What do you think?" is the best she's managed to get from him by way of explanation – which is, of course, no explanation at all. Really, she's not sure what she thinks. She's not sure she wants to think all that much about it, truth be told.
After half a year of this, though, Suzume is certain that she's figured out at least two things:
The first is that chores seem to be the one thing her brother is completely disinterested in making rules for.
The second is that he is lazy. If Suzume doesn't take it upon herself to clean the house, then the house is never clean.
Aside from stealing the knife work from her while cooking – something he always does in a big, demanding show of over-protectiveness – her brother never helps with housework of his own accord. He's content to lay sprawled across the floor, a quarter of his attention on the television or his phone and the rest of it fixed on her while she pads around the house on her bi-weekly cleaning sprees.
Yet unlike her father, her brother can be motivated to help. Most of the time, it's as simple as asking him for something specific. Could he take care of the bathroom today, please? And he'll nod, and stretch, and yawn his way through an indolent, "Yeah, sure." Or, if he feels up to it, could he maybe help her with the bedding? She's just feeling so tired. "Yeah, yeah," he'll say, waving his hand. "After this bit on the news." And, if he says he will – well, then, surprisingly he does. The news segment will finish, and, true to his word, off he goes to the bedroom to gather linens for the wash.
Oh, she cannot tell him to do anything, Suzume learns that very quickly. He does not respond well to that at all. That awful grin of his comes out and there is no more cleaning for either of them for the rest of the day. There is no time for anything at all, period. Telling her brother to do anything means he immediately clears his already empty schedule so he can devote his full energy to making her regret ever trying.
He is, as he is with everything, infuriatingly good at that.
No, no – Suzume has to ask, and she has to ask nicely. There can be no expectations and certainly no demands. Her brother can be very indulgent with her about almost anything, she's discovered, sometimes to the point of spoiling her – but more often than not, she has to ask for it. Helplessness seems to motivate him the most; when she's whiny and petulant and sad, he's quick on the draw to do whatever she asks of him. If he's in Good Brother mode, that's usually where it ends. If he's in Bad Brother mode, he teases her mercilessly for it.
"Aww. So hopeless without me, aren't you?" He'll say, and she knows him well enough by now to recognize the smug self-satisfaction in his voice when he does.
Sometimes, it's worth the trade off. Despite the way he lazes around the house, he is both exceptionally thorough and quick when he cleans. She's not surprised; he is adept at everything he does. Why should cleaning be anything different?
Sometimes, though – especially when he's in one of his moods – Suzume cannot bear to pay that toll. Oh, she'll try asking him, of course. She knows him, sure, but even so, she sometimes misses the signs. She makes mistakes.
Can't he please dust the shelves that are too high up for her? Or, maybe, if he's got the time, could he possibly think about sweeping the back porch?
But Suzume can always tell from the moment his eyes light on her that it's going to be one of those days, that he's in one of those moods. "Oh, yeah?" He'll ask, drawing out the 'yeah' so long and languid that she can feel it like a hot finger dragged down the entire length of her spine. "You need me to do that for you, huh?"
And even if he isn't smiling yet, she can hear it in his voice.
In those moods, asking sweetly is not enough. And Suzume knows him. She knows what he expects. She knows what he wants. He expects her to plead – he wants her to beg. He needs her to appeal to his ego and flounder, to be his lost and meek little sister, so overwhelmed with the weight of her small life that she can't possibly be expected to do anything on her own.
Can't possibly be expected to do anything without her big brother.
Most of the time, when he gets in those moods, Suzume will refuse to satisfy him. It feels demeaning, especially when she can manage on her own, whether with the help of a step ladder or a small nap – taken next to him, of course – to help her power through the rest of her chores.
"Nevermind," she'll say, working very hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice because she knows he sees any hint of sulking as a victory. "I'll do it myself."
"Really?" He'll ask, and that word is always so loaded. Oh, it sounds innocent enough – can she handle her chores by herself? Is she sure? But Suzume knows it's never that shallow. It's never skin-deep with her brother, no, because everything he says and does is always so much more than what it appears to be on the surface.
Can she really handle it on her own? Can she handle anything on her own? Is she sure? Doesn't she need him? How will she manage without him?
Stubbornly, Suzume will tell him: "Yeah. I can. It's fine." And it is – it is. She can handle her chores on her own. She can manage the skin-deep.
And that smile of his will come out, serene and wide and knowing – so terribly, awfully knowing. "Mmm," he'll hum. "Well, if you're sure."
And she is – she is, at least about her chores. But as for the rest of it? As for what he leaves unspoken?
Can she handle anything on her own? Is she sure? Doesn't she need him?
Unfortunately, for all that she's learned and all that she knows, Suzume is not so sure about that.
Still, there's always more to learn, she thinks. Always more to discover with him, about him, and about herself. About the two of them together. Any day is good for that. Any day – any day, like today, even.
Right now, together with him in the common room as she usually is, her brother is… placid, she thinks. Sprawled out beside her on the floor, limbs askew in every direction, he lounges like a great big cat sunning itself in a warm beam of sunshine. His attention is, for once, fixed on something besides her. She can see the rapid movement of his eyes as they read text too tiny for her to make out from the bright screen of his phone, his thumbs moving over the keyboard in a blur. Idly, she wonders what he's writing, or who he might be talking to.
It's been like this for the past two hours. Suzume, sitting cross legged and buried beneath three layers of blankets, working her controller in her lap, and her brother next to her, watching her, or reading, or stealing her snacks.
From her periphery, Suzume sees him yawn up at his screen. The yawn gets into her, too, and she pauses her game to let it work its way through her. It feels good, like a stretch deep in her chest that works its way up her throat and through her jaw. She closes her eyes to savor it, this physical sensation of a lazy, late winter morning. The bittersweet melody of her game lends the room a gentle, drowsy kind of energy, and Suzume finds herself wanting very much to go back to bed.
She feels him before she opens her eyes. The weight of his head settling against her thigh is familiar, even through the blankets. Her brother is and has always been very touchy, something that has only become more pronounced with time. In these quiet interludes, though, he is especially prone to it, even by his standards.
"Hey," she hears him say, and then she feels his fingers against her cheek, spreading over her face. "Lemme have some more of those cookies."
She opens her eyes then, and looks down into his. There's a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, and his phone lays face down and forgotten on his chest.
"I'll have to open another pack," she says, reluctantly. Cookies for breakfast had been her choice, but she feels a little jittery from too much sugar. That he'd even accepted such a suggestion is proof that he's still in Best Brother mode, inclined to give in to her every childish whim. In his default state – or, god forbid, when he's at his nastiest and hell-bent on making her cry as if trying to set some kind of record for Most Loathsome Brother Possible – cookies for breakfast would never fly.
("You're a fucking string-bean," she can imagine him saying. "Like hell you're not eating something more substantial."
And then he'd eat her cookies to teach her a 'lesson.')
Not this morning, though. Not when he's her Cool Brother. Not when he's in Best Brother Mode, more than happy to spoil his favorite little sister.
But the floor around them is already a graveyard of discarded cookie packets, and the friendly faces of the panda mascot emblazoned on each of them peer up at her as if judging her for her gluttony. Suzume can't help but feel a little guilty. "I think we should save the rest for later."
Even though eating well is his rule, it's evident he doesn't feel even a shred of guilt. "Or we can have them now." His fingers pinch at her cheeks, but not in a way that hurts.
"We've had so many – "
"So we can have more." Another pinch, and a huff now, too. "Hit me again."
Suzume searches her brother's face briefly, reading the angle of his smile and absence of tension around his eyes. It can be so difficult to tell when things are getting dangerous with him because he always seems so impossibly unconcerned with everything, but she has come to realize his eyes are, more often than not, a reliable tell. They watch her cooly now, their intensity muted. While that hard edge that has been in them since they'd reunited is still there – as it always is, these days – Suzume can sense no hungry wildness in them.
The pinches are affectionate, then, and not a warning.
Shrugging a bit out of her blankets, Suzume reaches down and fishes another package of cookies from the cylindrical box of them to her left. "Last one," she announces, shaking the small packet with a mournful expression. "That means we went through ten in two hours."
"Real breakfast of champions type shit," he says. Letting his hands fall away from her face, he folds them over his chest instead, fingers knit together across his phone. "C'mon, top me off."
Tugging the packet open, Suzume pulls one strawberry-filled cookie from the gleaming bag. Looking down at him again, she decides to push her luck. "What do we say?"
Her brother snorts, his lips pulled back in an easy grin. "Ah-ah, I ain't doing that shit," he says, snapping his teeth at her twice for effect. The sound of them clattering together is vaguely unsettling. "C'mon, Suzu. I want it now, not yesterday."
Part of her wishes she could work up the energy to be exasperated with him, or at least pretend to be exasperated with him. Even now, at his best and most doting, her brother is as bad-mannered as ever. But another part of her – or, more like, the whole rest of her – delights too much in his irreverence. It's a more mature sort than Katsuki's was, much quieter, and more reserved.
Treacherous too, sometimes. Mean-spirited, often.
But right now, it doesn't feel mean-spirited. Now it feels very much like what she imagines a real older brother would be like with his little sister. Or maybe, she thinks, just maybe –
Maybe like how a boyfriend might behave with his girlfriend, or a husband with his wife –
"Hey." There's a hand in her face, suddenly. Sharply, her brother snaps his fingers, and the noise startles her out of her reverie. "Quit spacing out. I'm fucking wasting away and – "
When he trails off, she makes the mistake of looking down at him. The curl of his widening grin has a smug undertone to it now, and oh, god – his regular smile is already too much for her as it is when she's feeling this way.
(But then, he's always too much for her.)
"Hey," he says again, much more slyly this time, "What's got you so flustered all of a sudden?"
Without thinking, Suzume raises her free hand to her cheek. It's a pointless gesture. Even before she touches it, she knows her face is hot, and god, god, it's not fair. It's always his fault. "The blankets…" It's a lame excuse and she knows it, but it's the best she has. She has to sell it. Fanning her face with her free hand, she wriggles her shoulders to dislodge more of the blankets. "I've been kinda overheating for a while now."
Her brother's gaze is almost always half-lidded, and it's a big part of what lends him that near perpetual air of indifference. Years ago, Suzume had taken that at face value. She was used to people who wore their emotions on their sleeves, after all. Katsuki's fiery temper, Izuku's warm-hearted compassion – even her mother had been unable to truly hide her fear and vulnerability, despite trying so hard to be strong. To appear strong.
Suzume thinks it's the same with her brother. He plays very well at being apathetic, and maybe he even is, most of the time. But not always.
Not now.
No, there's very much a difference between half-lidded and narrowed with her brother, and his eyes aren't half-lidded now. They're narrowed, now. There's that tell-tale bit of tension beneath his eyes, made evident by the slight movement that tugs his staples upward almost imperceptibly.
Suzume has committed the cardinal sin of catching his interest.
"Mmm. Hot, huh?" Her brother shakes his head back and forth very slowly, tutting at her. "I don't think so."
Suzume rolls her eyes and taps the cookie against his mouth in a poor attempt at distraction. "You can think wrong, then; don't let me stop you!"
He parts his lips for her and lets her feed him the cookie, guiding it into his mouth with the flick of his tongue. The sensation of it as it grazes her finger tips in the exchange – wet, hot, and more than likely entirely on purpose – draws a shiver out of her despite how desperately she fights against it.
Watching her very pointedly, her brother chews with his mouth closed before swallowing it back. "So," he says, in between a very exaggerated smacking of his lips. "You gonna tell me you're over here trembling 'cause you're cold, now, huh?"
There's no way he could have guessed the reason for her flushed face, but she has no doubt he's putting it together with context clues. Her cheeks burn hotter, and she can't help the way she puffs them out in defensive frustration. "Oh, come off it, will you? It's not like you aren't a – a miserable pile of secrets you won't share, all day, every day."
"You're such a fucking nerd." Her brother blinks up at her slowly like a cat, Cheshire smile and all. "What d'you wanna know?"
The question takes her by such sudden surprise that it feels as if she has completely forgotten how to speak.
"Tick, tock, tick, tock, Suzu." There's the flash of even more teeth behind that serene, crooked smile. "You know my generosity ain't an infinite thing, right?"
It is absolutely not fair for him to spring this on her! There is so much she always wants to ask, and so much she does ask him. Her brother promises her he won't lie to her, yes, but it's something he gets around by outright refusing to answer anything he doesn't want to. Which is a lot of things. Most things, really! When you're older, he'll say, like always – if she even gets that much from him. Sometimes, he just stares at her for an uncomfortably long period of time, an especially ghoulish smile slowly surfacing across his face, and that's the worst.
He's the worst, she thinks, huffing. The worst even when he's the best.
"Well – " It's not even a start, but she has to buy herself some time. It would not be at all unlike him to take back this gift. "Um, just give me a moment to think, please!"
More teeth, now, and even though they're only half-open, his eyes are gleaming. He's like the physical embodiment of a countdown timer in a video game, the numbers ticking down rapidly as the background music kicks up into a feverish, ever-quickening tempo. Suzume has always hated that – the panic makes her sloppy and stupid, makes her play terribly. It's something her brother is always ruthless about when he taunts her.
(Considering that, she suspects the similarities aren't a coincidence.)
Impulsively, she covers his eyes with her hand. Her hand is so small she can only get one eye and some of the other before she has to use her wrist to finish the job. "Quit looking at me – you're making this way harder!"
He laughs at her, but mercifully, he doesn't move her hand. "Oh, Suzu," her Very-Good-Brother says, very good-naturedly. "You're so cute."
And oh, oh, that's especially not fair – that's not fair at all, Suzume thinks, inhaling sharply, heart pounding. That's the absolute lowest of low blows! Whether he's her Good Brother eager to spoil her or her Terrible Brother gagging her on his fingers, he's always so adept at keeping her off-balance. Nothing really changes, does it? All this practice, all this time, and everything stays the same.
Even with his eyes covered, his mouth is still there, and his grin, and the shine of his white teeth behind them. Suzume squeezes her eyes shut. Questions, questions – what does she want? What does she want to know most?
There's nothing, and there's nothing, and then –
Suzume sucks in another breath, letting the question spill out of her in a rush. "Iwannaknowwhenyourbirthdayis!"
Her brother snorts, and she can feel his hot breath against her hand. "What?"
He's so good at interpreting her that Suzume absolutely refuses to believe he didn't catch the question. "You heard me!" With her hand still covering his face, she thumps her forefinger against his temple as if to scold him. "You just don't wanna answer, and you know what, that's fine, that's good, that's… You can do whatever you want! But if you can go years refusing to tell me something as dumb as your birthday, well – well, you can't get all bent outta shape with me when I wanna have secrets, too!"
Her brother clicks his tongue against his teeth a few times, a low tsk-tsk-tsk kind of noise. "You wanna keep secrets from your big brother? That's terrible, Suzu. You're making me so sad."
Suzume can count on half of one hand the number of times she thinks she's seen him look anywhere close to sad. The wide leer stretching his face means this most certainly isn't one of those times. "You're the worst," she grumbles. "You're always the worst."
He laughs again, but quieter this time. Taking her hand gently in his own, he pulls it down over his mouth so she can feel the heat of his breath as he laughs against her skin –
And then, softly, he kisses her palm. Once, twice – and then a third time more. His lips, like always, are so hot they almost burn in the worst-best way.
Like always, they make it very hard to breathe.
"Eighteenth of January," he says against her hand. It's muffled, but she can hear him just fine. She's gotten much better at interpreting him, too, after all.
"Oh," she says, and when he kisses her palm again – for a fourth time – there's nothing else in her head right now but him. How is she supposed to be able to make room in her mind for non-essential things like language or breathing when he takes up so much space in her thoughts?
It's always like this, she realizes. Her brother is always on her mind, always, always, even when they're apart. When she's at school, when she has to go shopping, when she meets with her grandmother or her very busy social workers, well – they're apart then, and she thinks it should be easy to think about something else besides him. School work, and shopping lists, and trying very hard to appear healthy-and-functional… these are all things that should occupy her. These are things she thinks should be able to push her brother out of her head, even if only for a little while. Even if only a little bit.
But they don't. They never do, not really. When they're apart, however rare or planned it is, Suzume finds she feels restless and uneasy, unable to think of much else besides how badly she wants to be home.
No, she thinks, that's not right.
She can't think of anything else besides how badly she wants to be home with him.
What will he say about her test scores? What does he want for dinner? The hospital smells funny; she can't wait to get home and bury her face in his shirt and smell him instead.
Her social workers ask her: have you made any friends? Yes, she says, and it isn't a lie, is it? It's not really a lie. It's not.
Her brother is her friend. Her brother is her only friend.
The only friend you need, her brother tells her often, smoothing his hands over her hair. The only thing you need, he'll whisper between good night kisses. Suzume hears it in her head, in his voice – and in her own, now, too. Her brother is the only friend she needs. He is the only anything she needs, because as terrible as he can be, he can also be so good and wonderful, too. He is her hero, after all.
Where would she even be without him?
"That's only a few weeks off," she hears herself saying, as if to fill the suddenly silent space. Her voice sounds dreamy and faraway, even to her own ears.
"Mmm." She can feel the way that sound vibrates against her hand when he makes it. His eyes are fixed on her, bright as they always are. "Sure is."
"How old will you be?" Without his birthday, she's never been able to fully determine that, and she's too muzzy-headed now to even begin to try to do the math.
"Nineteen."
Nineteen, then. She'll be turning eleven a couple of months after him. It feels strange, thinking of the years, of all the time they've had together now. Sometimes, she tells herself she's catching up to him with each year, but he's getting older, too. The years give her a few centimeters, but they make him sharper. It's a race she can never really win.
When she goes to tug her hand free of his, he lets her go without a fight. There's his smile, then, just as she expected it. Mischievous and knowing, just like his eyes.
Her brother is the worst, she tries to tell herself. And she believes it, and she knows it, but he is also the best, and the only, and she feels so sweet on him suddenly, so desperate for him, and it aches in her so much it hurts.
It hurts, and hurts, and it hurts some more. But isn't that what he said last time he was being terrible? That she wanted that –
That she needs it?
With her heart in her throat, she brushes her fingers across the spill of his bangs. His hair isn't as soft as hers, but she likes the way it feels against her skin all the same.
Looking up at her for once, her brother watches her. "That feels good."
Suzume knows him well enough to know what that means; he wants her to keep going. He wants her to touch him.
And because he's been so good to her, and because she wants to please him – and because she wants to do it of her own accord, too – she obliges him.
Her fingers dip past his hairline, drifting through the dark layers of his hair. She mimics the way he touches her, letting her nails graze his scalp gently in that soft, barely-there sort of way that always leaves her shivering from the pleasure of it. Her brother doesn't shiver, but his eyes flutter closed. At the edge of her vision, she sees his chest rise high with a slow, deep breath.
It feels… it feels good to touch him. His hair between her fingers feels nice. It's warmer than hers – as is everything that's in constant contact with his body – but not hot. It's a surprisingly foreign sensation, she realizes. It's always him touching her, always his fingers on her cheeks and in her hair. Her brother has none of her shyness, none of her shame.
She wonders if it's because he only ever sees her as just his little sister.
And there's those razors in her throat, again. With her heart there, too, she's terrified it'll get torn to shreds.
"Nii-chan," Suzume whispers.
She's so relieved when he doesn't open his eyes. "Hmm?"
"Can I ask you – " She takes a deep, measured breath, trying very hard to be discreet with it. "Can I… can I ask you something? Or, like, tell you something, maybe – while your eyes are closed?"
His eyes still don't open, but he laughs through his answer. "Oh, my little Suzu wants to get serious, does she?"
Her fingers go still in his hair, her teeth chewing at her lower lip. This is stupid, she knows – so stupid it makes her stomach feel sick. But still. But still! "Nii-chan… please?"
"Well," he says, smiling, smiling – always smiling, "If you go and ask me so cute like that, what kind of big brother would I be to refuse you?"
Big brother, she thinks. Her big brother, and she, his little sister. She loves it, and she hates it, and it's not fair. It's not. It's not.
And it's stupid, it's so dumb, what she wants to ask him. What if he says no? And what if he tells her she's stupid, that she's dumb? What if he laughs at her? What if – what if –
"I wanna – " Suzume can't breathe. She can feel the thrum of her heart beat all over her body, through every centimeter of her, a frantic, pounding rhythm that makes the room blur and tilt and spin. She closes her eyes, feeling sick. She feels like she's going to be sick if she doesn't. How is she even supposed to say this? How can she put it into words in a way that will make sense to him? "I wanna – can we maybe…"
"C'mon – you can do it," comes her brother's steady voice, wryly amused in a way that stings more than she likes for how serious she feels.
Suzume swallows, and swallows again, and then it comes out of her like a half-cry and not at all like the eloquent explanation she'd hoped it to be. "I wanna get married!"
At first, there is nothing. Suzume is too terrified to open her eyes, so there is just the nothing, and then more nothing. Nothing but that roiling gold-dark of morning sunlight pressing strange, dancing patterns into the backs of her eyelids. And after that, there is nothing still, and Suzume feels faint, because she can't make herself take a breath, and her mind whirls and jerks and shudders to a screeching stop because what if she's ruined everything –
And then she feels her brother's head lift from her leg, feels his hair slip from her fingers, and she reaches out blindly after him, panic emptying out every vein in her body and filling it with ice.
She hears his laughter first. Low and quiet, she recoils back from it, pulling the blankets up and over herself blindly. The sound of it burns. It makes her want to cry. Of course he'd laugh.
She thinks she'd be crying if she could even breathe –
But then she feels the blankets being pulled away, pulled back. She tries to hold onto them, but then her brother's hands are on hers, untangling the fabric from her fingers.
"Let go, Suzu," she hears him say, strangely soft. So, she does.
And then his hands are on her shoulders, pushing her back and down. It's not a rough thing this time. It's not like before, not like weeks ago when he'd been on her so suddenly, so roughly that it had hurt her. Now, it's more of a suggestion than a demand.
So this time, Suzume lets him, and he guides her down and back until her head is against the tatami.
And then, there is a dark shadow drawn over her closed eyes. Suzume feels the weight of one of the blankets again as he draws it up and over her, and then the heat of him pressed up against her side beneath it. The abrupt sensation of his breath against her ear and in her hair feels like hot shower steam. It startles a weak gasp out of her, and she suddenly remembers she really does need to breathe.
With the blanket over her face, the air that fills her desperate lungs is warm and thick. She takes it in through her mouth in ragged breaths, the blanket rough against her parted lips.
Then her brother's arm slides heavy across her shoulders, pulling her even closer. "So," he says, his voice nearly a whisper, his lips grazing her cheek. "My cute little sister wants to be my wife, does she?"
And Suzume forgets how to breathe all over again.
"That's gross," she whispers back before she can help herself. It's a reflex, just like the way she stiffens under his arm is a reflex. "Please don't say it like that."
"Is it?" He asks, and he laughs, and it's a silent kind of laugh. She only knows he's laughing because she can feel it move through his body, pressed so tightly to hers as it is – because she can feel the heat of his breath as it washes in brief waves across her cheek. And even though she's laying down with her eyes squeezed so tightly closed, Suzume feels that strange, wobbly see-saw sort of vertigo that makes her feel almost like she's about to fall – or maybe like she's already falling.
And Suzume thinks: isn't it, though? Isn't it supposed to be gross?
His fingertips brush across her cheek, barely there, just like his voice. "You don't wanna be your big brother's wife?"
Wife sounds like such a strong word in his mouth, especially when he keeps saying brother and sister together with it, but at the same time –
How often does Suzume think of him as anything else? Never. How often does she even think of him by his name? Never.
Wife, she thinks, and she hears it in his voice, in her ear, hot like everything else about him, and full of meaning. The shudder that takes her then is almost violent.
At that, her brother's laughter makes a real sound, faint from somewhere in the back of his throat.
"You're such a baby," she hears him say as he shifts, and she feels him get a little further away from her. "You get so worked up over nothing."
"It's not nothing," she cries, hands balling up into fists. When she opens her eyes and turns her head, he's got his elbow on the floor, his head propped up on his hand. This new angle of his body forms a makeshift support under the blanket, and it has the effect of turning the space between their faces into a sort of almost-tent.
The blanket he's chosen is neither heavy nor dark. Sun from the window filters down through it, suffusing his face in a soft and almost angelic light. It's an unusual contrast when set against all the sharp lines of his face – the stark sweep of his jaw, the pronounced and stapled ridges of flesh that form the torn edges stretching from the corners of his mouth all the way up to his ears.
"Surprised you can open your eyes," he says, and Suzume can hear the smirk in his voice even if it hasn't found his mouth again, yet.
Suzume lifts her knees until her feet are flat with the tatami mats. It adds a bit of reinforcement to their makeshift tent. She frowns up at him, trying her best to look put out. She feels like crying, instead. "I meant what I said."
"Oh, did you?" He raises his eyebrows. "About what? Your own confession being gross, was it?"
Suzume crosses her arms over her chest, gripping at the fabric of her shirt just beneath her shoulders. "I didn't…" She turns her head away from him then, staring up at the knit-pattern of the blanket. The pinpricks of light between the fibers remind her of stars set in neat and uniform rows, over and over and over again. "I didn't mean to say that. It just came out, 'cause I… 'cause I don't know. 'Cause I felt sensitive and dumb and wrong about it."
The pretend stars blur, bleeding into each other. Suzume blinks, but they don't clear. She hates how easily she cries. It makes her feel childish. She's never going to be old enough for him to tell her anything at this rate. "You don't ever take anything I say seriously, even when it's really, really hard for me to say it. You always turn it into some stupid joke."
"Mmm." Her brother cups the side of her cheek with his hand and smooths his thumb across one of her eyes. Made reflective in the diffused light, it's wet when he lifts it again. "Maybe some things. But not everything."
"Not the stuff – not the stuff that matters most." When her voice warbles on the word most, Suzume thinks she sounds pitiful, even to herself.
"Why did you feel bad about it?"
That question catches her off guard. Her eyes slide back over to him, but his face is a mess through her tears, the details of him muddied. "What – "
"Why do you feel bad about it, Suzu?"
There's none of his usual cruel humor in the question. He sounds, as best as Suzume can tell, completely serious.
"I… " For a moment, all she can do is set her teeth and grind them down, so hard her jaw throbs. She locks her jaw against the sick feeling in her stomach, against the sob that wants to come out – against the urge she has to get up and run and hide and never come out again. "You keep saying… you keep saying brother and sister. And it makes me feel… it makes me feel bad, and it… it makes me feel wrong."
Somehow, in the indistinct shapes of his face, she can make out the vivid, electric blue of his eyes, so bright even in this low light. "Don't you think of me as your brother?"
Suzume tastes acid in the back of her throat. "I do," she admits, miserably. "I do."
His thumb moves gently over the curve of her cheek. "So, again, then: why's that bad?"
"Please," she whispers, knowing it's pointless to beg for this. There's a lot that begging and tears will get from her brother. It is the currency he deals in most. But not this, she knows. Not this. "Please don't make me say it."
"Suzu." It's all he says, because of course it's all he needs to say.
"I like you – I like you like a brother. You're a… you're a really cool older brother, even when you're being mean and dumb. I've always… I've always thought so." All of this is so raw and hard to say. It feels like she's spitting up the razors that are a near constant sensation in the back of her throat, and her voice is so soft that she can barely hear it herself. "But also – but also, I like you as… as more than that… and that's bad, isn't it? That's why I said gross, 'cause it's not good to feel that way, and 'cause you're gonna – you're gonna make fun of me about it, and you're gonna think I'm dumb and I don't want you to, 'cause what if – what if you think I'm so dumb and so gross and you go away, too – "
"You really think you'd get rid of me that easily?" Through her tears, she can see his mouth move. She can see it quirk up in the corners, too. "Over a dumb little crush?"
And of course he'd be like this, she thinks, wildly. Dumb little crush. He wants to make her talk, to make her confess something so important and hard to say, just to make a joke out of everything. Of course he wouldn't take it seriously. It's like he's fisted his hand through the break in her ribs and taken hold of her heart – like he's squeezing it between his fingers, tighter, tighter, just to see what happens, just to see it pop. And god, it hurts, and it hurts, and it won't stop hurting, and it isn't fair. It isn't, it isn't –
Frantically, she kicks at the blankets, and the space around them becomes larger suddenly, and so bright, and the new light is blinding by comparison. It stings her eyes, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she sits up, kicking still at the blankets tangled at her feet.
"Suzu – " Her name again. Serious, again. A warning, maybe. She doesn't care.
"It's not just a 'dumb little crush!'" She's yelling now, and struggling to her feet. When he snatches her wrist, she turns, furiously, to find him halfway up himself. There's the blue of his eyes, but there's a lot of white there, too. She doesn't think he's smiling anymore.
Impulsively, she shoves roughly at his shoulders – and immediately stumbles when he lets her. The give takes her completely by surprise, and it's only by the grace of his arms around her that she doesn't fall face first past his shoulder into the tatami mats.
Chest to chest with him now, all the fight goes out of her. She buries her face against his shoulder and wails, ugly and keening like a wounded animal – and then the sobs start, cut free and hysterical. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks. So stupid. So stupid.
He's saying something, but she can't hear him. She can only hear the terrible noise she's making, shameful and stupid and unloveable. He'd never want to marry her. Not in a million, billion years.
Even so, her brother holds her while she cries, like he always does. There's his one hand at the nape of her neck, his thumb and fingers working little circles into the spots behind her ears that feel so nice. His other smooths a path between her shoulder blades, slow and warm and set to a rhythm, up and down.
Up and down. Up and down. Steady. Steady, and –
She's not so loud, now.
"C'mon, Suzu," she hears him say, patient despite how much she knows he hates being patient. "You gotta fucking breathe."
Up and down goes his hand. Up and down, that rhythm, and she remembers: in and out, in and out. Breathing. Breathing.
"I don't wanna – don't wanna breathe," she manages, voice gone all quavery with her sobs. "I wanna – wanna get married, but I – I messed everything up…"
Suzume feels her brother take a big, deep breath himself – feels her body lift with it as his chest swells. "Listen," he says, and he sounds like he's trying very hard to put on his Serious Older Brother voice. "You can't say shit that cute and expect me not to laugh, okay? It doesn't mean I'm laughing at you."
"I'm not trying – not trying to be cute, though!" Gripping his shirt, she shakes her head, choking on her words. "M'trying to be – "
"I know," he says, and the hand at her neck moves up into her hair. "I know. You're very serious."
And for a long while, he just lets her cry. His hand drifts through her hair, and his palm moves over her back, and he lets her cry, and cry, and then she's snuffling, and then it's only the occasional hiccup. His shirt is sopping wet by the time she's done, slick with tears and snot. He doesn't seem to care, and that makes her feel worse – and also a little better, too, somehow.
"Sorry I'm gross," she mumbles into his shoulder.
Her brother rubs his cheek against the side of hers as he huffs a laugh into her hair. "Guarantee you I'm way more gross than you, Suzu."
"Nuh-uh."
"Yeah-huh. The most gross."
"Nope."
As if by answer, her brother's fingers tilt, and there's the press of his nails as he draws them through her hair, nice and slow against her scalp. Shivering, Suzume buries the pleased noise she makes in the crook of his neck.
There's another measured rise and fall of his chest as her brother takes a deep breath, and Suzume finds she likes how that feels, too. And then, suddenly, he asks her, "Who cares if it's gross, anyway?"
She isn't immediately sure what he means. "What?"
There's a hint of intensity in his voice, now. "Who gives a shit if it's bad?"
Suzume is fairly certain he's not talking about his shirt. "I don't know – "
"A lot of the best things in life – the shit that really feels the best – well, they always feel bad and gross first. And a lot of people won't let themselves feel those things, do those things, you know – because they can't push themselves past the bad or the gross parts. They ain't strong enough."
Suzume shifts and turns her head so she can rest her cheek on her brother's dry shoulder. In her chest, she can feel her heart picking up speed. "Like… like what?"
"Well, lotsa things. For some people, maybe it's stealing when they're too poor to buy food, yeah? Or maybe they just wanna steal in general, who fucking knows. Maybe it's being mean. Maybe it's killing someone who really deserves it. I mean, people came up with the idea of morality, so it's not like it's some cosmic certainty. That shit's different across cultures even, so why shouldn't it be different between people?"
Suzume is quiet for a long time, thinking about that, and all the while her brother's fingers sift through her hair. Eventually, though, she asks him: "Did killing my dad feel good for you?"
Her brother doesn't even hesitate. "It sure fucking did."
Cautiously, Suzume rests her hand against his chest. She can feel his heart there, beneath the press of her palm. It's nearly as fast as her own. "Did it feel gross or bad at first?"
This question does give him pause. She counts his breaths, five, then ten, and then at thirteen – "I think if I'd been younger, it would have. Or, maybe it did, but it felt gross and bad in a way that made it feel even better – that made me like it even more. Some things are like that. Some things feel better the worse you know they are. It's like cooking, yeah? You could make a chicken with just salt, but why would you?"
Suzume frowns. "You mean, like… the gross and bad parts are supposed to be the spices?"
"Exactly."
"I don't know if it… works like that," she says, doubtfully. But what she really doubts is herself.
What she really means is that she hopes it doesn't.
"But you know it does, don't you?" From out of the corner of her eyes, she can see him wrap a long strand of her hair around his finger. "You got something like that, too. Everyone does."
Thump, thump, thump goes his heart. Suzume swallows, dryly. There's no point in asking him what he means; she knows he's going to tell her, anyway.
"It's okay," he says, in a whisper. "It's okay that it makes you feel good when you think about marrying your big brother – even if it's gross. Even if it's bad."
Biting her lip stops the noise. There's no stopping the way the shudder works its way through her, though.
"See?" With her hair still curled around his finger, he works his nails through her hair again. "You shiver the same way when you think about being my sweet, little wife as you do when I touch you this way. They both make you feel good."
And god – god – it's far too much to hear him say those things of his own accord. It's too much, and it's unfair of him to say them, to put those words in her head in his own voice – so she can hear them repeated, over and over and over again –
It's unfair because it's gross, and it's unfair because it's bad, and it's unfair because she thinks about it all the time, and it's unfair because it's good, and worst of all, it's unfair because –
"But you don't – you don't…"
Her brother hums thoughtfully, and stops rubbing her back to hold her, instead. "D'you think I'm the sorta guy who'd do the whole marriage thing with anyone, Suzu?"
"Well… no, I guess not," she mumbles – and it's another despondent and painfully honest confession. For all that the idea of being married to him excites her, she has to admit she absolutely cannot imagine him in a marriage ceremony. For some strange reason, it's much easier to imagine herself as his wife than it is for her to imagine him as her husband.
And yet, even so –
"But I wanted to…" It feels selfish feeling it, let alone saying it. Gluttonous, like she's eaten too many cookies. "I wanna be the exception."
His chest rumbles with hushed laughter. "Oh, Suzu," he says, and even she can hear the fondness in his voice. "You're already the exception to so fucking much. You just gotta wait."
Wait, he says. Always wait, wait, wait. "...until I get older?"
"See? You know." Gently, he tugs the strand of hair he has wrapped around his finger. It doesn't hurt, not really – but Suzume can't begin to articulate how it makes her feel. "My clever girl."
"But I am older," she whines, loathing the childish lilt in her voice. "I'm almost three years older than when we met, even. I'm getting big. I'm old enough."
"Oh, are you, now? Old enough for what?" He asks her, and there is something in his voice that is sharp and strange. She's heard it creep in before, but she can't quite place what it is or what it means.
And really… Suzume isn't sure what she means, either. Old enough to… what? Hold hands? To kiss him – to really kiss him? To be her big brother's sweet little wife, even if only in… in what? Spirit?
Responsibility?
Her cheeks are hot again, thinking about it. Her toes curl, thinking about it. She isn't old enough to be legally married even if he did want it, anyway. She knows. She's looked it up.
Huffing defensively, Suzume screws her eyes closed. "Maybe I'm not, after all. Maybe when I am, I'll meet someone who does like the idea of getting married, and I'll marry them instead."
Thump thump thump, goes his heart, and then:
Thumpthumpthumpthump –
Faster, now. Pounding, now.
"Like hell you will," her brother says.
Suzume opens her eyes, and lifts her head.
Her brother meets her gaze, and his blazing eyes are narrowed and not half-lidded. That tension is there beneath his eyes, and it's there in his mouth, too, and in the way he's set his jaw.
Suzume wants to look away. She wants to, she wants to –
But she also has to ask. "And if I did?"
His eyes burn into hers. "Oh, you wanna try your very mean big brother's patience, yeah? Wanna give him someone else he'll feel real good about killing, do you?"
It's a classic threat – the sort of empty threat an overprotective brother would pull. It hits a lot differently coming from her brother, though, Suzume thinks, considering he's already killed before.
(Considering who he killed before, and how he did.)
There is a small, awful part of her that wants to argue. She wants to push him, goad him – to see what he says, what he does. It isn't even that she wants to marry anyone else. She doesn't. She has never loved anyone like she loves her brother, and she cannot imagine loving anyone else in the same way.
Suzume imagines that terrible curiosity is somehow related to the voice that urges her to touch a hot stove, or to jump from somewhere very high. Or maybe it really is her nature, she thinks, her stomach twisting with the thought – the nature her brother told her about.
The drive to provoke him because she wants and needs to be hurt by him.
But even if it is – even if it's true – she doesn't have to do it. Doesn't have to act on it.
Does she?
"Sorry," she says, frightened of the fire in his eyes. "I was just – I was just playing."
The smile that settles across his face is one of the most terrifying she has ever seen. "You better fucking be."
